


Family

by SoongTypeDisaster



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Flash Fic, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoongTypeDisaster/pseuds/SoongTypeDisaster
Summary: Data thinks on his family, and decides to write a letter.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> In which I am terrible at titling things. Not my best work, but my grandmother's birthday would have been tomorrow, and I'm in a weird mental state, and really wanted to write something involving Data for whatever reason. This is what came out.
> 
> Written in the space of an hour or two, not really edited at all.

Family was a bit of a sticky subject at times. Data had learned over the years that these things were complicated for humans as well, but he still found it difficult to navigate his own familial relationships. Perhaps it wasn't too surprising. After all, his brother had tried to kill all his friends on more than one occasion (had Lore tried to kill him too? or had that drugged drink been intended to keep the crystalline entity from destroying him along with the rest of the crew?) - had crept into his mind, controlled him, turned him against his own best friend.

And it wasn't just Lore. Ira Graves, "grandpa", as he'd insisted Data call him, had tricked him. Deactivated him. Installed his own personality to try and usurp Data's own. True, he had done the right thing in the end. But not because of Data. Not because he cared for his grandson. Because he didn't know how to handle the strength of the android body, didn't want to keep injuring people. Humans. Organic life. It was strange that he could not remember any of what happened. Had he admitted to emotion, he would, perhaps, be relieved at that. What must it be like, to be trapped and watching while someone else controlled you?

His father seemed loving enough, although Data still did not fully understand all of Doctor Soong's decisions. Why he had left so many things out when programming Data's abilities. Why he had never fixed Lore. He'd said that he would have done so had he known Lore had been reactivated. But was that enough? There was still so much he did not know. And now he would never be able to ask. Lore again. Although, he supposed, Lore was only accelerating the inevitable, in a way. Doctor Soong had, in fact, been dying. He had said as much. Not that this excused Lore's behavior. Data wasn't sure he would ever understand. Perhaps he did not want to.

After all, had he not proven once that to understood Lore was to become him?

Or had that been controlled as well?

No, all he had left was his mother. His mother, also complicated, who he had not kept in touch with as well as perhaps he ought to. He had confided things to Geordi, who suspected Data's reticence had to do with the fact that Juliana Tainer had left him behind. But Data did not hold grudges. She had expressed regret for leaving him behind, and he believed her. It was enough. It was in his nature to... not forgive, perhaps, since he did not get angry - excepting his time under Lore's influence, for which there had already been many apologies.

No, his failure to keep in touch was far simpler than that. He just did not know what sort of messages a mother wants to hear from her son. Oh, he had kept correspondence with others. But he knew what sorts of things Commander Maddox wished to know. And Sarjenka... those had been conversations. As simple as any other. Simpler, perhaps, because children were often more straightforward than adults. But the relationship between mother and son... it was supposed to be... _more_. And he was not certain he was able to feel the things that made it more.

Oh he had sent her updates, here and there. The replies had always seemed... longing. As if he hadn't quite told her what she was really wanting to hear. And so this time, instead, he had decided to attempt an older form of communication. He was writing a letter. Yet the blank page offered him no more answers than an empty log. And, something else, more perplexing...

He swung up out of his chair with a single, fluid motion, causing Spot to leap from his lap with an indignant meow. With barely a pause to scratch her head in apology he strode out the door, heading toward Counselor Troi's office.

* * *

"Well what's so strange about that, Data?" The counselor's posture was warm, friendly, and waiting. More often than not, instead of answering directly, she would prompt him, guide him, letting him come to an answer on his own.

"My father is dead," he replied tonelessly, brows knitted in consternation. "There would be no place to send such a letter, nor any way for him to receive it."

"And yet you want to write him a letter anyway."

A challenge to his reasoning. He misunderstood. "Yes, which is precisely why I came to see you. ...unless perhaps you think I should have Geordi check for-"

Troi held up a hand to stop him, as he was already halfway out of his chair to leave. "No, I don't think it's a malfunction, Data." The android sat back down, head tilting ever so slightly to one side, as she continued. "It's actually quite common to want to write a dead family member. Humans often do it as a way to cope, or even just to express things that were left unsaid."

The wrinkled spot between his brows smoothed ever so slightly, expression relaxing just a touch. "So it is... normal?"

"For a human, yes," Troi said with a smile.

Data took this as the intended compliment and his expression brightened. He started to rise again, but this time the counselor made no attempt to stop him. In a few long strides he was at the door, but there he froze, turning back with a slight frown. "But... what do I write about?"

Troi, having followed him to the door, placed a hand on Data's shoulder to gently usher him out. She had other patients, after all. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

The door slid shut behind him as he stood there with the same frown still on his face. Perhaps he should simply start writing whatever came to mind? If nobody was to read it, he supposed there was nothing to be lost if the letter came out "wrong". So he returned to his quarters, settled back in his chair, and took several long minutes - long enough for Spot to return to his lap - before picking up an old fashioned fountain pen, settling a perfectly ordinary sheet of paper on the desk in front of him, and beginning to write.

"Dear Doctor Soong..."

He crossed it out.

"Dear Father..."


End file.
